


The Feline of 221B

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Catlock, Eventual Johnlock, Gen, Halloween, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: Sherlock’s body was rigid and his head fell back as the woman’s chant grew louder and John could hear the bones in the detective’s back cracking and his usually deep voice sounded weak and strangled as he cried out. He tried to keep his eyes open, but a heavy darkness was clouding in on his vision, pulling him under as exhaustion took over his body. The last thing he remember was Sherlock’s shrinking, twisting form seeming to disappear before his eyes leaving behind a thick bundle of dark clothing beneath the heavy fabric of the Belstaff coat.





	The Feline of 221B

  
A/N: This is a fun little Halloween fic that I started and wanted to share with everyone! I am actually very excited about this one and it will be very fun for everyone to read! Let me know what you think and I’ll try to get the second chapter up quickly!   
  
  
  
“This way!!” Sherlock shouted as he rounded the corner and began to bolt down a dark alleyway. John jumped and reached out a hand to grab the sleeve of his partner’s thick Belstaff coat just in time to be drug along behind him. It was about half an hour ‘til midnight when the detective had taken up the chase of an extremely interesting suspect in a missing persons case and John could hear Big Ben chiming in the clock tower above the city signaling a new day.  _ ‘Exactly how I wanted to start a day like Halloween. Chasing Sherlock’s bloody arse all over London!’ _ John thought to himself as he did his best to keep up. Even with his tight grip on Sherlock’s sleeve, his shorter legs and stature made it difficult to match his quick pace.    
  
The figure ahead of them was tall and thin and wore a long black cloak with a hood that shielded their face from view. The suspect changed direction on the spot and made a sharp turn to the left. John couldn’t see the detective’s face, but he could practically hear the ‘triumphant bastard’ smirk in his voice. “He can’t get out that way! He’s hit a dead end!” he called back over his shoulder and tore his sleeve from the doctor’s fingers and raced on ahead; his coat flapping behind him.   
  
John felt his face heat in anger and he threw his hands up in the air before starting off after him with a growl of frustration. “Wait up, you moronic idiot! You don’t know if he’s got a gun or –“  The shorter man let his words die off as he quickened his chase and let his anger boil over. One thing about their so-called partnership was that Sherlock never thought about anything he did before he actually did it. If it crossed his mind, he was gone in the blink of an eye and there was no stopping him. John couldn’t count the number of times he’d pulled him out of oncoming traffic to keep him from ending up plastered across the bonnet of someone’s car.    
  
Sherlock was nowhere in sight, but the doctor knew which street he had taken the moment he got close. He could hear the detective spouting off his usual arrogant deductions as he cornered the figure against the brick wall at the end of the alley. John stepped around the building to see the figure pacing back and forth in front of Sherlock as he continued his explanation, detailing exactly how he had discovered the person to be responsible for the 3 missing persons reports filed with the Yard. However, the entire situation just seemed off and deep down John felt something stir in his gut, giving him the idea that he really should intervene and get Sherlock out of there as quickly as possible.    
  
He stepped forward slowly and stretched out one hand as he slid cautiously up behind his partner. “Sherlock…” he said quietly, placing his outstretched hand on the detective’s shoulder as he dug into the soft fabric to tighten his hold.   
  
Sherlock kept talking, ignoring John’s grip on his shoulder, as he demanded answers from the hooded figure. But, the strong sense of imminent danger began eating away at John’s core as the figure slipped a gloved hand into the deep pocket on the inside of the cloak and he knew he had to act fast. He slipped his foot between Sherlock’s legs and used his calf to take him down at the knee as he scrambled over him and drew his gun. He could hear the detective shouting behind him, probably telling him off for ruining his plan, but – just as John settled his finger on the trigger guard – the figure raised their other hand and he felt a heavy blow from some unseen force knock him backwards.    
  
The side of his head struck the cement and he fought hard not to black out from the force of the impact. He heard Sherlock shout his name, but it seemed as if he were several streets over even though he could clearly see him. The gun had fallen from his hand and was laying several feet away from him and he began to try to crawl towards it when the hooded figure began to speak.    
  
The voice wasn’t what they had been expecting and John felt his blood run cold – it belonged to a woman. He couldn’t move any further and found himself staring helplessly as the figure pushed back the hood of her cloak revealing long, vibrant red hair and green eyes that stood out profoundly on pale skin. The words she spoke were unlike anything that John had ever heard and he couldn’t recognize the language at all. She advanced on Sherlock and the doctor tried to get to his feet but he couldn’t move. He felt rooted to the spot like he had been cemented into the pavement.    
  
Sherlock’s body was rigid and his head fell back as the woman’s chant grew louder and John could hear the bones in the detective’s back cracking and his usually deep voice sounded weak and strangled as he cried out. He tried to keep his eyes open, but a heavy darkness was clouding in on his vision, pulling him under as exhaustion took over his body. The last thing he remember was Sherlock’s shrinking, twisting form seeming to disappear before his eyes leaving behind a thick bundle of dark clothing beneath the heavy fabric of the Belstaff coat.   
  
  
****************

 

  
Cold... Wet… Hard…   
  
John blinked slowly and opened his eyes to find that he was still laying on the pavement in the alley and it was still dark up above him. Not much time had actually passed, then, but it certainly felt like hours as he pushed himself up and felt the muscles in his back straining with stiffness. He glanced around at his surroundings as his gaze settled on the Belstaff coat and he felt his stomach lurch.    
  
The doctor jumped to his feet and ran to the bundle of clothing, dropping to his knees as he tried to gather them up in his arms. After he picked up the heavy coat, he saw something moving beneath the black fabric of Sherlock’s bespoke suit jacket and froze instantly. The navy blue scarf on top of the pile twitched as it fell to the side revealing two pointed black ears and, as John stared in confusion, a slender solid-black cat shook itself free from the clothing.    
  
John stared at the animal completely transfixed on its piercing blue-grey eyes and watched it stretch and claw at the fabric beneath its paws. The cat stretched its neck and settled into a very straight-backed sitting position, letting its long tail wrap around to rest on its fore paws. The look it was giving John was one he had seen so many times before and he suddenly felt light-headed.   
  
“No… no, no, no. There is no way in Hell this can be you,” he spoke directly to the cat, feeling somewhat insane in his own right. “This has to be a joke. Good one, Sherlock! You got me. Now, wrap this up so we can go home. I have to be at the clinic in a few hours!” John called around him, his voice echoing off the brick surrounding him. Even as he shouted the words something in the back of his mind told him this wasn’t a joke. The cat hadn’t moved a muscle and just sat staring at him incredulously; the same agitated expression Sherlock usually saved for him when he was being ‘considerably boring’, to use his words.   
  
The harsh reality of the situation began to settle in John’s aching muscles and he felt his mind begin to race. Sherlock had rushed ahead and gotten himself into this mess and now what were they supposed to do? He shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention back to the cat. He had so many different things to say that it was hard to settle on just one; not to mention that he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the detective he had left the flat with last night was now sitting before him in a brand new fur coat and whiskers! He also couldn’t believe that, even as an entirely different species, Sherlock still managed to look like an arrogant dick.   
  
“You did this to yourself, you know?” John stated matter of factly as he gathered up Sherlock’s clothes and tucked them under his arm. “You always rush into these sorts of things and I’ve been telling you for years this was going to come back to bite you in the arse one day. But, you couldn’t be bothered to listen to me and now, look at you. I hope you like tuna fish and cream because that’s what your menu looks like for the foreseeable future, Sherlock,”. He made his way down the alley and headed for the main road as he tried to get his bearings.    
  
John was just about to hail a cab when he suddenly wondered if he’d even be allowed to take a cat in a cab in the first place. He glanced down at Sherlock in all his feline glory and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like we’re walking from here, mate. No pets allowed in cabs, unfortunately. You always get us into the biggest messes and one day, I’ll get to pay you back. I would say that I’d be able to do it now, since you’re going to be dependent on me for everything in this state, but you already were dependent on me to do everything for you… so, not much has changed,” he said with a smirk as he trudged down the street. He felt Sherlock bump his furry head against ankle in protest and he let out a small laugh. John had always said that life with Sherlock would never be boring, but he had no idea it would have ever been this mad. There was no way he’d be able to tell anyone the truth about what had actually happened back in that alleyway- they’d never believe him and would probably have him committed – so, he would have to come up with a plan of action as quickly as possible.    
  
“Look, Sherlock, we are going to have to keep this little ordeal just between us, so I’m going to have to come up with a way to convince Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Greg that you’re away on a case for Mycroft or something like that. In the meantime, we have to figure out how we are going to change you back…” John’s voice trailed off at the thought. It hadn’t even occurred to him to think of how they were going to change Sherlock back and he had no idea where to even begin looking for answers. Surely, there was a way and hopefully it wouldn’t be as hard as John feared…   
  
Before he realized it, they were at the steps of 221B and Sherlock had wound himself around John’s leg and pawed at the door as he looked up at him expectantly. “Oh, no. No way. You can’t just waltz in like you own the place. We can’t risk Mrs. Hudson seeing you just yet until we know what we’re going to do. I guess I’ll just have to carry you in under your coat,” he suggested, stooping to pick up Sherlock’s furry form, but he was met with a low growl and quick hiss of annoyance.    
  
John rolled his eyes and held his hands out, “Sorry, mate, know other option. Believe me, I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it’s what we’ve got and we’re going to have to deal with it. Now, come on and let’s get inside. You’ll feel a bit better once you’re stretched out on the sofa, I hope,”. He watched as Sherlock eyed him suspiciously and then leapt lightly and graceful into his arms. The good doctor couldn’t resist the temptation to scratch behind the pointed, furry ears on Sherlock’s head and, to his surprise, he didn’t try to bite him or hiss at him. The left ear twitched in response and a small shudder ran through his shoulders as the muscles spasmed beneath the silky black fur. “See you inside,” John whispered as he covered the cat in the Belstaff coat before opening the door and heading upstairs.   
  
Mrs. Hudson had still been asleep and John was glad to finally be back home as he draped Sherlock’s coat on the arm of the sofa and the furry detective slipped out of his arms and onto the cushions. He watched for a moment as Sherlock settled himself on the sofa and stretched out so that he took up the entire cushion. There were going to be a lot of things to sort through to adjust to their new normal, but John hoped it wouldn’t be too hard on them. He knew Sherlock didn’t have the greatest patience in the world, but he would do what he could to help things go as smoothly as possible.    
  
The first thing John did after making sure his companion was settled was start the kettle, then he made his way down the hallway to open the door to Sherlock’s bedroom. Cats couldn’t open doors so he would have to make things like rooms and food and water easily accessible for him. As the kettle clicked off, John made his way back to the kitchen and took down their mugs and began making tea.    
  
He placed the milk back in the refrigerator – making a mental note to get more tomorrow – and brought the mugs out into the sitting room. Movement from the sofa caught his eye and he realized Sherlock had lifted his head and was watching him intently. It wasn’t until John realized that he had made Sherlock a cup of tea as well and he let an embarrassed smile flush across his face.    
  
“Shut up with your judgey eyes, will you? It’s a habit. You know I don’t make my own without making you one, too,” he said setting both mugs down on the coffee table and sitting on the opposite end of the sofa before pulling out his laptop.   
  
John set to work trying to research his flatmate’s condition, but found himself at a loss for what to look for.  _ What to do when your partner gets himself turned into cat? Steps for restoring your detective to factory settings? _ He shrugged and started trying to type in any words he could recall from the chant the mysterious woman had been reciting in the alleyway. As he scrolled through the results, he saw Sherlock climb over onto the coffee table out of the corner of his eye and he watched him dip his head and lap up some of the tea from the mug. The good doctor suppressed a chuckle while he watched his small pink tongue dart in and out of the mug as little drops of tea splattered onto the surface of the coffee table. He had never had a pet growing up, but he had always found animals fascinating and he tried to remind himself that the cat on his coffee table was actually Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective.    
  
The irony of the entire evening hit John like a ton of bricks and he finally let out the ridiculous laughter he had been holding in. Sherlock flicked his ears and his furry face settled into a very disgruntled expression as he made his way over to sit beside his laughing flatmate. He hissed quietly and made a short swipe at the outside of John’s thigh in warning.    
  
“Okay, okay… I’m sorry,” John managed to say in between wheezing breaths as he tried to regain his composure. “You have to admit this is pretty funny, though. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but it is what it is,” he finished and Sherlock huffed, still agitated. He knew that this wasn’t going to be easy for the detective, so he turned his attention back to his computer and stifled a yawn.   
  
After about twenty minutes of clicking and reading and going back through the search results, John felt Sherlock creep into his lap and stretch out across the keys of his laptop as he brushed his long black tail under the good doctor’s nose to flick him with the tip. Good grief, even as a cat he was going to be impossible to live with… He tried to push him off the laptop, but Sherlock latched his newly acquired claws into John’s sleeve and hung on tight.   
  
“Ow, you stupid git!! Let me go!” he shouted, thumping the cat on his small pink nose. Sherlock flattened his ears back against his head and growled deep down in his throat, digging his claws into the fabric even more but released his hold on John’s skin.    
  
John bit back the angry words that were lodged in his throat and tried to remember that Sherlock couldn’t communicate verbally like he could, anymore. As he let out an irritated sigh, the good doctor brought his hand up to stroked the top of Sherlock’s head reassuringly. At first, the gesture was treated as an insult… but, after a few moments, the detective relaxed into the touch and released his claws from John’s sleeve. He settled back into the cushion beside his human flatmate and laid his head down on his forepaws.   
  
The doctor couldn’t help but feel a bit sympathetic and he scratched Sherlock behind the ear once again. “It’s going to be weird for a while, but we’ll figure it out… For now, I think it’s best if we both get some sleep. I’m going up to bed and I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, hoping he sounded comforting.    
  
As John made his way upstairs and dressed for bed, he felt the weariness of the night take over and he knew there would be no way he would be going in to work after everything they’d gone through. He sent a quick text to let his superiors know that he had an emergency and wouldn’t be able to make it in in the next few hours, then settled into bed.    
  
He had left his bedroom door open in case Sherlock needed him during the night and was only slightly surprised when he heard a floorboard creak beneath gentle paws. As he opened his eyes, John saw Sherlock’s feline form standing just a few feet from his bed and he seemed to have a question hanging in his blue eyes. Even though John was pretty sure he knew what was coming next, he still asked anyway, “Can’t sleep?”. Sherlock looked down at the floor and licked the fur at his chest without meeting John’s gaze.    
  
Rolling his eyes dramatically, John patted the pillow next to his head and scooted over to make room as Sherlock’s lithe body landed softly in the exact spot the doctor had indicated. “Make yourself at home,” he chided as he patted the cat on his back, “We will see what we can do in the morning,”.   
  
John watched quietly as Sherlock closed his eyes and, after a few minutes, a deep purr filled the room with a relaxing ambience. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d had been thinking about when he finally drifted off to sleep, but he hoped that the waking hours would shed some light on their current situation.   
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
